


The Road Home

by MostlySane



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon
Genre: M/M, Mention of Character Death, Sibling Incest, Unsafe Sex, after Iola's death, mild depression, motel sex, should probably mention that this is set in casefiles verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlySane/pseuds/MostlySane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe didn't know how it came to this. He didn't know how he and Frank ended up on a bed in a cheap motel, screwing each other's brains out. Sure he knew he missed Iola, but really, isn't this a bit much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> I know there aren't many Hardy Boy slash fans, but, for the few of you who do exist, here ya go!

"Tink, tink, tink…" the sound of water dripping from a faucet filled the room, followed by the sound of water gurgling in rusty old pipes. I stared at a spot on the chipped tile wall were it seemed that someone had squashed a fat fly with a dirty shoe. I was sitting on the toilet cover, one foot tapping halfheartedly to the tinny classic rock song piping through a speaker. I had told Frank that I needed to piss, and had then walked in here and shut the door behind me. Since then, about 5 minutes ago, if I had to guess, I had simply been sitting here, staring. Why? Because I had no idea what to do next. Seriously, here we were, driving around the US on the faint track of a middle ranking Assassin hoping he would…what? Hoping he would wave his magic wand and "pop!" here's Iola back again! I don't know what I'm doing.

"Joe? Are you in there, Joe?" I heard Frank say softly by the door. I wanted to say yes, or say something to reassure him, but the only sound that came out was a weak "Frank…" in a quivery voice. Immediately, he pushed open the door and walked in, locking it behind him before turning around to face me. He took one look at me- I just realized I was crying –and gave a soft sighing groan.

"Oh, Joe…" he muttered softly, coming over to me and kneeling down to face me. He placed two of his hands, warm and smelling faintly of diesel, on my cheeks. His thumbs wiped the tears (damn them!) that just kept spilling from my eyes. Frank didn't say anything more, he just stayed there, wiping my face and clucking softly at me, his soft gray eyes looking into my own with nothing but sympathy and love. Love. Frank has always loved me, always been there for me, and always supported me. In fact, that was why he was here, trekking around the country on a useless mission, instead of at home, applying for Harvard. Here he was, my perfect older brother, giving up everything for me, like he always had. I couldn't help it, I sobbed.

"I-I'm s-so s-sorry, Frank!" I managed to blubber out, fiercely hating every tear that made my throat so tight. The confused look on his face was, well…cute, and if I wasn't the faded shell of who Joe Hardy used to be, I would have laughed. After all, with Frank being the brains of the operation, he didn't often look as bewildered as he did right now.

"Sorry? What in the world are you sorry for, Joe?" He sounded completely in the dark. Surely, surely, at some part of our miserable trip, either in the gloomy interior of my Chevy, or in the somber silence of countless motel rooms, he must have wondered what he was doing. Surely.

"I'm sorry that I d-dragged y-you on this silly t-trip and t-took you a-away from your life," I managed to get that out with a minimum of hiccups. And even though I wanted him to get back to his life, I'll admit, I also wanted him to stay with me and never leave. Frank shot me a look tinged with incredulity before a soft smile perked his lips (I hadn't noticed his new habit of biting his lips until just now) and he replied quietly.

"How can you have taken me away from my life, when my life is right here in front of me, crying in a gas station bathroom?" he murmured. I gaped at him, but before I could think to reply, he stood up, and pulled me to my feet as well.

"C'mon, Joe-Joe, "he said, using the nickname he had dropped almost 10 years ago, "lets go get a room and have a little nap, okay?" Normally, I'd argue quite violently against both the use of the name and the suggestion of a mid-day nap, but, suddenly, I felt too drained to do anything more than nod slowly and let him help me out of the gas station and into the car. He got into the driver's seat and I made no motion to stop him. Frank drove quickly, too quickly, it seemed, considering this is Frank Hardy we're talking about here, to the nearest motel. I didn't bother to catch the name; neither did I bother to tune in to Frank's conversation with the pretty receptionist. Or at least, I didn't until he nudged me softly with his elbow, bringing my attention back to him. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Joe, the receptionist says that the only room they have left has only one bed, is that alright, or do you want to go find another motel?" he queried. I shrugged. I'd shared a bed with Frank before, and it had never been a problem. In fact, strangely enough, it had been our parents who insisted on getting us our own rooms, neither of us had complained at all.

"C'mon, Joe," Frank's voice pulled me back to the here and now, where we were walking to our room. He pulled out the keycard and swiped it, before opening the door and ushering me in. In the old days, before, I probably would have been the one to open the door, doing so with a dramatic flourish, and then I would have bowed deeply and said teasingly, "Your suite, monsieur." And Frank would have rolled his eyes, a smile pulling up his lips as he walked in with a "Very good, lackey." As it was, I just walked in and dumped my duffle on the floor before flopping down on the bed. Frank sighed (was he remembering too?) and closed and locked the door behind him.

We took our showers and dressed in boxers before lying down on the bed. For a few minutes, we stayed stiffly on our sides of the bed, but the Frank muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "fuckit" before he pulled me to him and snuggled me against him. For a moment, I was tense, but I allowed myself to relax, and I snuggled to him as well before closing my eyes and letting sleep take me away.

I was pulled from my nightmare (the word was synonymous with sleep to me now) by Frank murmuring my name in my ear. My chest was heaving jerkily, and I was gasping for air. He pulled me closer, clucking comfortingly under his breath and running a hand through my hair. After some time, just listening to our breaths and the ticking clock, I calmed down and Frank stopped the comforting noises, but kept his hand in my hair. We just lay there, breathing in and breathing out, and I remembered how much every breath had hurt right after Iola's death. Every breath hurt, because every lungful of air I took was one she didn't. It hurt less now, and I think that hurt me more. I wanted to forget, how I wanted to forget! But I was no fool, I knew that drinks and drugs wasn't gonna do more than let me forget a little before bludgeoning me with it even worse than before. I still wanted to forget. Frank took in a breath and opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out, and he shut his mouth and stayed silent. This repeated itself several times, before I decided to step in.

"What is it, Frank? What do you want to say to me?" I asked him quietly, my voiced muffled by his skin. He shivered at the puff of cool air against his sleep warmed skin before sighing and gathering courage again. I pulled up and looked down at him, waiting for him to speak.

"…Joe…will you, um, will you…fuck me?" he whispered. WHAT? I stared at him like he was the Creature from the Black Lagoon's estranged step-mother. Blinking my eyes a few times, I made a highly confused questioning noise in the back of my throat. Frank cleared his throat slightly at the unspoken question and made to reply.

"Well, whenever I used to let a failed case bother me, or I got into a slump, you'd always tell me I needed to go have a good fuck. I figure that the same thing might…help you out a bit, but I doubt you're up to heading to a bar, so…and, well, I am right here in bed with you already, and…" he trailed off, unable to meet my eyes. I was surprised, and more that a little scared, by how much his explanation made sense to me. I'd never really known if Frank had taken that advice himself, but I had, on numerous occasions, and it always had made me feel better. After all, there's nothing like an orgasm or two to put things in perspective. That thought had, I decided to not dwell any more on the rights and wrongs of it, that's normally Frank's department, and got down to it…

…I leaned down and kissed him. I kissed him on those wonderfully soft yet firm, slightly chapped, lightly chewed-on, warm lips. Why I haven't done this before, I don't know, I thought to myself as I began to move my lips against his. He answered back with enthusiasm, pulling me down closer to him and working his mouth in tandem with mine. I licked his lips slowly, asking him to let me in. Frank's mouth slid open, and I happily thrust in. For a few moments, we just kissed, tasting each other, tangling our tongues, and exploring each other's mouths. Then, I thought it time to move things to the next level. I ground my hips down into his, and was surprised by the response.

"Joe!" he gasped, tearing his mouth from mine and arching his back sharply. He was…beautiful. His eyes were shut tightly, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, his lips red and kiss-swollen, and, best of all, a thin line of saliva connected his lips to mine. I don't have an explanation for it, but that right there drove me wild.

I dove back down for more, practically slamming my lips down on his. If I thought he had replied enthusiastically before, it was no match for the fervor he threw into this kiss. I began moving my hips, grinding down on top of him, allowing our hard pricks to rub together with only our boxers between us. He moaned into my mouth, moving his body to rub up into me as well. It was sheer pleasure. And yet, it wasn't nearly enough.

Grunting slightly through my nose, I manhandled him into a position where I could remove his boxers. I threw them off into a corner, but before I could get to taking mine off, Frank pulled at them. He yanked them off like a kid pulling wrapping paper off his first Christmas present.

"Easy, Frank," I chuckled lightly, but he paid me no mind. Instead, he pushed me down onto the bed, crawling over my legs, before gripping my cock. I groaned as he worked his fist, pulling and tugging on me just so. I saw him start to lean down toward my lap, his gray eyes with their pupils blown wide with lust were focused completely on the movement of his hand on my dick. I saw him swallow and lick his lips before his soft pink tongue slid out and he lapped lightly on the head of my cock. I couldn't help the groan that slid from lips at the sight. He slid those stormy eyes of his up to look up into my eyes just as his pretty red lips wrapped around my dick. I gasped. Damn! Why it took me so long to realize just what a pretty little cocksucker Frank is, I'll never know. For a moment or two, he just sucked lightly at the tip, but then he began to bob his head as he took in more of me. The suctioning warmth was incredible, and I let my hands grip his head and push him down more. Frank allowed it, sucking me deeper in before pulling up with a loud slurp.

"You…taste so good…" he panted, his swollen lips open to get the optimal amount of air. I just stared, entranced by those lips of his. Once he noticed my fixation, he chuckled breathlessly and dove back down for more, sucking me back in. I wanted to toss my head back and let the sensations take me away, but I wanted to watch him just as much, if not more so. He was very talented, sheathing his teeth carefully, hollowing his cheeks around my dick, and working his tongue around the sensitive vein on the underside. I felt the tightening in my balls that warned me of what was about to come. Reluctantly, I pulled him up off my dick and closer to me. If I thought I was reluctant, the look on Frank's face surpassed that! He looked like he was a kid being refused the world's most delicious lollipop. The thought sent shivers up my spine. I yanked his mouth to mine, kissing him and tasting myself in his mouth. I groaned. For a moment, he allowed the kiss, but then he pulled away and instead rummaged for something in his open duffle by the bed.

"What are you looking for?" I asked distractedly, my attention focused on his tight butt that waggled in my face as he searched.

"Lube," he grunted before making a triumphant noise and pulling himself back up. I sighed in disappointment at the loss of the delicious view. Man, when did I turn so gay? The thought left my mind when he lie down on his back and spread his legs, allowing me to glimpse the tight little pucker that would be taking my dick in. Frank unscrewed the cap and dipped his fingers in the strawberry scented lube. He rubbed his fingers together to warm it and then slid the hand down between his legs. I watched, transfixed, as he teased the little rosebud with his slick fingers before slowly slipping the tip of his index finger in. He sighed quietly as he worked in the rest of the finger, and then his middle and ring fingers as well. Finally, he withdrew his hand, panting lowly and beckoning me with his other hand.

I scrambled over, only too pleased to get nearer to him…and his delicious ass. I spent a moment trying to figure out the mechanics of it. Apparently, a moment was too long for Frank to wait. He grunted in annoyance at my hesitation and tugged me closer to nestle me between his legs. I allowed it, guessing from recent experience that Frank knew more about what was happening than I did. He wrapped his legs around my waist and one arm around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. It was nice, as every kiss with him had been thus far, but my attention was pulled away by his other hand snaking down and gripping me. I pulled back just a little so I could see him slide my dick to his hole.

For a moment or two, he just rubbed it against the pucker, tormenting the both of us if his dripping cock was anything to go by. Then, with a slight intake of air, he pulled me into himself. At first, the muscles seemed reluctant to let me in, but then they gave way, and I was sucked into his warm velvety heat. Both of us gasped. I decided I'd better pull my weight, so I started to slowly rock into him. It was slow going, partially because I didn't want to hurt him, but also because I felt that if I slammed right in, I'd come before we even really got started.

Finally, I bottomed out, my balls resting snugly against his ass. We stayed still for a moment. Finally, he tightened his muscles slightly, signaling me to move. Then, it was action time. I pulled out some, and then slammed back in. And then I repeated, each time pulling out more and slamming in harder. I angled my hips a little, knowing from some of that weird doujinshi shit or whatever it was that Iola had been such a fan of that Frank needed a little work on my part to make things really good for him. It seemed I, or those whatchamacallems, were right, because after a little angling around, I hit the jackpot. Frank fairly screamed. After that, I made an effort to pound that spot a lot. He rewarded me by clenching his ass muscles around my dick. Ooh yeah, now we're cooking with gas!

We rocked together, our bodies slicked with sweat and the precum dripping from his cock. It kept getting better, sweatier, hotter, silkier, and whatever it was, you name it. I didn't ever want to stop slamming myself into that tight little hole. But, as they say, "all good things must come to an end." Good thing for me, this was gonna be one super sweet end.

Frank tightened impossibly around me as he threw his head back and shouted an unintelligible word that might have been some form of my name. That was all it took for me to spill myself into that tight heat. I had barely the presence of mind to slide myself to the side so I didn't crush Frank, but I stayed inside him. He snuggled against me, and murmured something into my neck.

"What was that, Frank?" I asked lazily, still too high on the afterglow to do much more. He pulled his head up and repeated himself, a cute blush dusting his cheeks.

"I said, 'I don't want you to take it out. I want it all to stay inside me'," he replied. I gaped at him and he squirmed uncomfortably under my surprised gaze.

"What?" He snapped. I shook my head quickly.

"Nothing, it's just…that's really, really…hot," I replied, red taking it's visit to my face as well. Frank blinked in surprise before a grin split his face.

"You gonna wanna do this again sometime?" He asked shyly. This time my nods were almost frantic.

"Oh yeah! Most definitely! We're gonna do this in every motel room on the way home!" He grinned at my enthusiasm before all I said sank in and his brow crinkled cutely.

"What do you mean, 'on the way home'? Are we going back soon?" He asked hopefully.

"We're going back now, but…I thought you didn't mind traveling around with me?" I asked, trying to mask my hurt. Now it was his turn to shake his head frantically.

"No! It's not because of me that I want to go back. It's because of you! This trip hasn't been good for both your state of mind and your arteries. Too much wallowing in grief and fast food is not going to help you now or later on in life, Joe," he said, somehow changing desperate placation to disapproving lecturing. I shook my head fondly and relaxed back onto the bed. Once I did, he relaxed against me again, cuddling even, I daresay. For a few moments we just stayed there, breathing and thinking and basking in…something new between us. Finally, Frank broke the silence.

"If I may ask, why are you ready to go back now?" I hummed in acknowledgment at his question, giving it proper thought.

"Well…I don't know. It's like, before, I kept chasing this pipe dream all over the US, and dragging you down with me. But, now, I realize that…oh, it's so hard to explain! I guess…it's like I realized that main difference between then and now. Before, I had no idea what I was doing, so I was just running aimlessly in hopes of something that could never be. Now, I still have no idea what I'm doing, but I see now that…that's okay, y'know? I don't need to know what's happening, and how it's all gonna go down. I mean, half the people in the world can probably admit to that, right? I guess that someday I'll be over Iola. Maybe someday, I'll just remember her fondly, with no pain. Sure, I'll wonder what life would have been like with her alive, but I'll get over it. I guess what I'm really trying to say is, I don't know how everything will be, and I may not be completely okay yet, but I know I will be. And that, well, that kinda makes all the difference. And, of course, I know you'll be there with me all the way to offer moral support and mind-blowing sex, so, I'll just roll with, y'know?" I finished off, shooting him a cheeky grin. He shook his head a little at the last bit, but smiled softly at what I had said earlier.

"You're growing up, Joe, and, unfortunate though it is, growing up can really hurt. But, it'll get better someday." I nodded in agreement. Then I gave him a quick once over.

"So, before we hit the road, how about another round?" This was said with a lascivious wiggle of my eyebrows. A giggle got past his attempts to muffle it, and I grinned happily at him.

"Yeah, sure, Joe. Let's go for round 2. Then we can hit the road." Oh yeah. All may not be right in the world of Joe Hardy, but it's getting there, and, in the end, that's all one can truly hope for.


End file.
